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We are BACK! Coffee with Colette returns, and it is only appropriate that Abigail Reynolds should be the first guest joining me as we begin anew! (I know, I've been gone awhile; but that's a topic for a separate blog post. This time has, however, allowed me to catch up on all the JAFF I'd been missing!)

As I mentioned when Abigail joined me here in March, I had been harassing her for quite some time to release her new Pride and Prejudice variation. Well, it seems that my diligence paid off because.....here it is!!! (She may come to regret this kind of negative reinforcement.)

Seriously, as soon as Alone with Mr. Darcy was available for pre-order, I pre-ordered it; and then, approaching the appointed date, I waited until midnight for it to appear magically on my Kindle. Because it was so late, I think I did take until the next day to finish it, but only because of that annoying thing called a "day job."

I know I say this every time, but Abigail has topped herself once again! This one really had my heart going pitter-patter. She is here to tell you all about her latest best book ever, PLUS she is giving away an eBook! (What would YOU do if you were alone with Mr. Darcy??? I can tell you what I would do if Colin Firth and I were snowed in together all alone....well, a 1995 Colin Firth! [And a 1991 version of me whilst I was between husbands, but I digress.]) If you like P&P variations - and who doesn't? Hashtag Guilty Pleasures - you are going to LOVE this one; and I am pleased and proud to count myself among the affiliate members of the Austen Variations Authors.

~Colette

Abigail Reynolds is...Alone with Mr. Darcy

It all started with a blizzard and Mr. Darcy. Last year was
a good year for blizzards on where I live on Cape Cod, though nothing could
compare to this year! Still, it was a pretty bad blizzard, the kind where you
could only see a few feet and had to shout to be heard over the howling wind.
How did Mr. Darcy get into it? He’s always
there, of course! After writing a dozen variations on Pride & Prejudice, I hear Mr. Darcy talking in my head most of
the time. Hard life, isn’t it? He’s always telling me what he’d do in this
situation of that, or even more often, what I should be writing. Bossy, that’s
what he is!

So there I was, huddling inside and wondering if I should
bring in some firewood in case the power went out, and Darcy started scoffing
in my head about how people in the Regency always
managed to keep fires lit and it was no big deal. Actually, he said it was ‘an
insignificant concern,’ because that’s how he talks. I silently retorted that
I’d like to see him bring in the wood
and start a fire, since he’d no doubt always had servants to do it for him, and
probably didn’t even know how.

In true Darcy style, he stuck his fictional nose up in the
air and told me I should reconsider my prejudices about him because he knew
perfectly well how to light a fire. Then he started to dictate what turned into
my next book, Alone with Mr. Darcy.

Blurb:

Elizabeth Bennet can’t
imagine anything worse than being stranded by a blizzard in a tiny cottage with
proud and unpleasant Mr. Darcy. But being trapped there for days – and nights –
with an injured and confused Mr. Darcy who keeps saying the oddest things about
her, is even worse. At least he possesses the useful ability of lighting a fire
to keep them from freezing to death. But when he puts his arms around her, she
discovers the hearth isn’t the only place he knows how to build a fire. And the
little half-frozen kitten he finds in a woodpile isn’t proving to be much of a
chaperone.

She doesn’t really
believe his promises to marry her if anyone finds out they spent two
nights alone together, especially after learning he was betrayed by
another woman in the past.

When her worst fears are realized and her reputation
is in tatters, she isn’t surprised to discover Mr. Darcy has vanished into thin
air, leaving her no choice but to find a husband as soon as possible before her
whole family is ruined. Any husband, no matter how much she dislikes him. Even
if she can’t stop thinking of Mr. Darcy….

Intrigued? Here are two scenes from it, one where Elizabeth
discovers Darcy by the side of the road, and one where he lights that fire:

A
burning knife was digging a hole in Darcy’s skull. Why? All he wanted was to
sleep. The cold had finally gone away. If only the knife would do the same!

“Mr.
Darcy. Mr. Darcy!” A female voice called his name urgently.

He
wanted to ignore it, but it stirred some memory. He forced his eyes open to
discover the visage of Elizabeth Bennet only inches from his face. “You,” he
said distinctly, “are not supposed to be here.”

“I am not supposed to be here?” Her voice
rose sharply on the words. “You are the one who… oh, never mind. Are you well
enough to walk?”

“Walk?
Why would I want to walk?”

She
closed her eyes as if hunting inside herself for patience. “Because it is
snowing and you are injured.”

“I
am not injured. I am merely resting.”

This
time her lips twitched. “I see. You have chosen to rest by the side of the road
in the middle of a snowstorm with a gash in your head. An interesting choice,
Mr. Darcy. Personally, I would recommend a warm bed next time.”

How
tempting those lips were! “A warm bed sounds very good to me, although hardly
for resting.”

Elizabeth
turned her face away, but he thought she was laughing. “Come, sir. I must take
you to shelter. I fear you are confused from your injury.”

He
frowned. Had her normal intelligence deserted her? “I already told you I am not
injured.”

With
a sigh, she pulled off her glove and touched her fingers to the burning knife,
sending it ever deeper into his skull. He winced as she held up a bloody
handkerchief in front of him. “Sir, you are bleeding. That is generally a
characteristic of injuries.”

Was
she laughing at him? He tried to raise himself to a sitting position, since it
was not polite to lie down in front of a lady, but the knife twisted painfully
and he had to bite down on his lip to keep from crying out. So he was injured after all. That explained a
great deal. “Ah, yes, I suppose it is.”

An
icy gust of wind blew past. Elizabeth grabbed her bonnet, holding it to her
head. “Mr. Darcy, the storm is worsening. We cannot remain here.”

“Where
are we?”

“On
the Hatfield Road. Were you travelling alone?”

“I
believe…” He shook his head slightly, sending red-hot pain shot through his
skull. He could not recollect how he had come to be there. He certainly was not
about to admit that to Miss Elizabeth
Bennet.

“Never
mind. Do you think you can stand?”

The
snow was coming down now at a slant, tiny ice crystals stinging his cheeks.
Gritting his teeth against the inevitable discomfort, he lurched to his feet,
his muscles stiff. He dusted off the covering of snow which had collected on
his greatcoat. “I must have been unconscious for a few minutes.”

“More
than a few, I fear, from the amount of snow on you. You must be half-frozen.
You might wish to press my handkerchief over your wound so it does not start
bleeding again.” She stood with her hand half extended as if prepared to catch
him.

He
did not need her help, even if the ground beneath him was moving noticeably. “I
am well enough. Is there shelter nearby?”

“Meryton
is almost three miles from here, though there is a tavern perhaps half that
distance where you can warm yourself at the fire.”

Two
miles. He tried taking one step, then another. His vision blurred in and out of
focus. Through the haze of pain he said, “I fear that may be beyond my
strength. Might I request you to seek aid for me while I remain here?” Having
to ask for assistance was always bitter. Having to beg it from Elizabeth Bennet
was even worse.

Elizabeth
glanced at the sky, though she could not have seen anything through the heavy
snowfall, then to the spot where he had lain, already half filled in. “I dare
not leave you alone for so long in this weather. There is a laborer’s cottage
nearby. I will take you there, then seek assistance.” She bit her lip. “The
accommodations will not be what you are accustomed to, but it will be warm and
dry.”

“I
have been in poor cottages before. I can ask no more than warm and dry.” Warm
and dry sounded like heaven at the moment.

***

Darcy
rested back on his heels, his head throbbing as he inspected the flickering
flames. It had been many years since he and Richard built fires in the cavern
near Matlock, but apparently he still retained some knowledge from their
fumbling attempts. This tiny fire would do little to chase away the chill in
the air, but the pile of coal and firewood beside the hearth would not last
long if he built it any higher. The cold had sunk so deep into his bones he
could hardly imagine ever being warm again.

He
stripped off his sodden greatcoat and hung it over a stool near the fire. He
doubted it would make much difference, but it would not help him if his clothes
became wet as well. Wetter than they were, that is. His trousers were soaked
through at the knees and caked with ice over his boots. As he knocked away what
ice he could, he looked up to see Elizabeth wringing out the hem of her dress.
She seemed to have fared somewhat better than he in that regard; but then
again, she had not lain unconscious in the snow, just walked through it. Her
pelisse seemed to have protected her well, though her stockings must be cold
and wet. No. He should not think about Elizabeth’s stockings or how they must
cling to her shapely legs. Not that he had ever seen her legs except as a shadow
through that pale blue dress, but he had imagined them often enough, usually
wrapped around him. Devil take it! He needed to get control of himself.

He
glared at the fire. This was not a good sign. Here he was, half frozen, stiff
from bruises, his head pounding, and in an old cottage little better than a
shepherd’s hut. He ought to be immune to lust, not thinking about Elizabeth’s
legs – especially when those legs happened to be trapped in a small room with
him. Perhaps the injury to his head had impaired his mental faculties more than
he thought.

In
a quest for distraction, he noticed two buckets sitting by the door. They would
need water, and he might as well take care of that while he was still cold and
wet. If only he were not so dizzy! Somehow he managed to put one foot in front
of the other for the few steps needed to reach the door.

Elizabeth
said sharply, “Where are you going? Did you not just say it was unsafe to
travel in this weather?”

“I
have no desire to travel, only to bring in some snow to melt. We will want
water later.”

“Oh.”
She sounded taken aback. “Thank you for thinking of that.”

A
deafening blast of icy wind burned his face and bit through his clothes as soon
as he stepped over the threshold. This was worse than it had been just a few
minutes earlier. He filled the buckets as quickly as he could and hurried back
to the relative safety of the cottage.

It
seemed oddly still inside again, even if he had only been out in the storm a
short time. He set the buckets beside the hearth where Elizabeth stood warming
her hands. “The wind has picked up. We were fortunate to find shelter when we
did.”

“I
thought it seemed louder.”

There
was something odd about the fire. It seemed to be growing, fading in and out…

Elizabeth’s
hand clutching his elbow brought him back to his senses. “Mr. Darcy, I pray
you, sit before you fall down. One head injury is enough for the day.”

“I
am perfectly well,” he said automatically.

She
huffed. “In that case, even though you are perfectly
well, would you be so kind as to sit down purely to relieve my anxiety? You would not wish me to
suffer for your stubbornness, I am sure.”

How
neatly she had trapped him. And how fortunate she had done so quickly, since
the floor was showing a disturbing tendency to tilt under his feet. “Very
well.”Keeping a steadying hand on the
wall, he lowered himself to sit on the hearth.

“Thank
you.” Elizabeth hesitated, then hurried away from the fireplace - not that
there was far for her to go - and rummaged through a small wardrobe.

“May
I assist you with anything?” It seemed polite to ask, though he doubted he
could even stand up at the moment.

“No,
thank you. I am simply looking for… oh, here they are. If you would not mind
keeping your back turned for a moment, I would appreciate it.”

“Of
course.” Darcy bit his lip so hard it hurt. Surely she was not changing her
dress!

Fortunately
for his sanity, she quickly rejoined him at the fire, still wearing the same
dress. “Thank you. Now, if you do not object, I believe it would be wise for me
to examine your injury while there is still light.”

As
if he did not feel enough like an invalid already, having been rescued by the
woman he was trying to forget! “I think it is unnecessary. The bleeding appears
to have stopped.”

Her
lips twitched. “I knew you to be a man of many talents, but your ability to see
the back of your head is quite remarkable. Perhaps I misspoke when I said I
should examine it if you do not object. If you do object, I still prefer to examine it.”

Trust
Elizabeth Bennet to make him laugh in the most unpropitious circumstances.
“Since you insist, Miss Elizabeth, I will do my best to comply with good grace,
but I still think it unnecessary.”

“You
may think whatever you like, so long as you allow me to check your wound. If
you could turn away from the window so it is in the light – yes, just like
that.”

He
could feel her fingers in his hair, carefully parting it around the wound. The
movement stung, but all he could think of was her touch. How often he had
wished for her fingers to run through his hair! This was not the way he had
hoped for, but still, she was standing so close to him, he could practically
feel the warmth radiating from her.

“I
fear the eyes in the back of your head have deceived you, Mr. Darcy. It is
indeed still oozing blood. Do you perchance have a handkerchief I could use to
clean it?”

Darcy
reached into his pocket and handed it to her without a word.

“Thank
you. I am sorry to put your fine linen to such a messy task. I will try to
avoid hurting you any more than necessary.”

He
was tempted to tell her it was too late for that. His inability to possess her
had been a constant ache for over two months. In comparison, the gentle touch
of her fingers in an open wound was nothing, and her concern was more soothing
than he cared to admit.

It
would be easy to allow himself to enjoy being cared for by Elizabeth more than
he ought. He fixed his gaze on his drying greatcoat to distract himself. It had
been joined by two long white stockings. Good God, she must have taken them off
while he was gathering the snow! His imagination presented him with a
tantalizing image of walking in while she was peeling those stockings off, one
leg at a time. Wounded or not, he would have been delighted to offer his
assistance, and then to…

“My
apologies, that must have hurt. I will try to be gentler.”

It
was a good thing she could not guess the true reason he had stiffened. No more
thinking of her legs, which must be bare and cold under her petticoats. It
would only be kindness to warm them for her.

He
was almost grateful for the blinding pain that suddenly stabbed through his
head.

“There,
I can see it now. Fortunately, the cut is not large, although you have an
impressive goose egg around it. I would guess the bleeding will stop with a
little pressure. I have folded your handkerchief, and perhaps you could press
on it here.” Her hand took his and guided it to the appropriate spot. “Very
good. I will check it again in a few minutes.”

What
would she say if he told her the touch of her hand on his was the best healing
he could have?

“How
did this happen? Were you set upon by footpads?”

He
winced. “No. I was....” Devil take it, what had
happened? Why could he not remember? The road to Meryton was a safe one,
and it would have been broad daylight. Surreptitiously he felt for his watch.
It was still there, gold fob and all. Not footpads, then. They would not have
left that behind. “I am not certain.”

Her
eyebrows shot up, but instead of saying anything, she crossed to the wardrobe
and returned with a threadbare quilt. As she draped it around his shoulders,
she said, “It is hardly fashionable, but it should warm you a little.”

He
should have declined, but the sensation of having Elizabeth worry over him was
disquietingly pleasant.

So,
what would you do if you were
stranded alone with Mr. Darcy? Let me know, and you could win an ebook copy of Alone with Mr. Darcy! (Leave a comment below with your email address so we can let you know you're the winner!)

Abigail
Reynolds may be a nationally bestselling author and a physician, but she can’t
follow a straight line with a ruler. Originally from upstate New York, she
studied Russian and theater at Bryn Mawr College and marine biology at the
Marine Biological Laboratory in Woods Hole. After a stint in performing arts
administration, she decided to attend medical school, and took up writing as a
hobby during her years as a physician in private practice.

A
life-long lover of Jane Austen’s novels, Abigail began writing variations
on Pride & Prejudice in 2001, then expanded her repertoire
to include a series of novels set on her beloved Cape Cod. Her most recent
releases are Alone with Mr. Darcy, the national bestseller Mr.Darcy’s Noble Connections, The Darcys of Derbyshire, and Mr.Darcy’s Refuge. She is currently working on a new Pemberley
Variation (Yea!!!! I shall begin harassing her immediately! ~ cls) and the next novel in her Cape Cod series. Her books have been
translated into five languages. A lifetime member of JASNA, she lives on Cape
Cod with her husband, her son and a menagerie of animals. Her hobbies do not
include sleeping or cleaning her house.

I am so far behind on my TBR, but the book is there. I would love to have Mr. Darcy in my head all the time; you are a fortunate lady. Thank you for sharing how the book started. Yes, what an inspiration for the story; the past 2 winters, Thanks for sharing your stories with us.

What would I do if I were stranded alone with Mr. Darcy? Wow! That's a difficult question! Probably for the first time in my life, I wouldn't care about my dear books and I would spend hours talking to him. I'd love to hear his voice!!

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Colette Saucier is a bestselling and award-winning author under multiple
pseudonyms. She began writing poems, short stories, and novellas in grade
school. Her interest in literature led her to marry her college English
professor, but eventually a love of history encouraged her to trade up to a
British historian. Technical writing dominated her career for twenty years, but
finding little room for creativity in that genre, she is now a full-time author
of fiction.

Colette’s
first novel, Pulse and Prejudice, was named “A Most Inventive Adaptation” by Elle
Magazine (April, 2016). It was the 1st Place Winner in its category in the
2013 Chatelaine Awards Romantic Fiction Contest and is listed in Chanticleer’s 2013 Best Book Listing. Colette dedicated 15 months traveling to
Europe and Britain, researching Regency England and vampire lore and
literature.

Colette was selected a “2013 Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award”
Semi-finalist and named “Debut Author of the Year” by Austenprose for All My Tomorrows—now expanded and republished as The Proud and the
Prejudiced—which was also
chosen Austenesque Reviews “Favorite Modern Adaptation.”

Colette’s romantic thriller Alicia’s Possession was the publisher’s #1 Bestselling Romantic Suspense for 4 straight
weeks following its debut in June of 2013 and then again in January, 2014,
after being voted a “Top Ten Romance Novel of 2013” (P&E Reader’s Poll).
Colette is also the author of the controversial and erotic noir romantic
suspense Cartel Widow, an Amazon bestselling new release and Kobo
bestseller.

Due to her obsession with historical accuracy, she devoted more than
two years researching Creole Society and New Orleans in the years following the
War of 1812 for the sequel to Pulse and Prejudice, entitled Dearest Bloodiest Elizabeth.

Colette lives in a lakeside community in South Louisiana with her historian
husband and their two dogs. When not writing or
researching for her next novel, she enjoys wine, reading, and cooking gourmet
meals with her husband.